Gus reaches out, putting his arm around my shoulder, tucking me into his side. Maybe he can read that I need the comfort or maybe the memories are more than he can bear.
“He lived like that for ten years, Maia. No woman got close. He could barely look at them. No one got in and he never spoke about any of it let alone said Amy’s name. Until you came along. You relit his torch, and now he’s trying to reconcile all these disjointed pieces he’s never allowed himself to acknowledge. He’s fighting his guilt and his love for you, and sometimes that takes a man a while to wrap his head around and his heart to fully accept.”
I swallow thickly, fighting the lump of emotion clogging my throat, making it nearly impossible to breathe past. “How do you know all this?”
Gus rests his head on top of mine the way I imagine a brother doing with a little sister. “Because I know him. Because I’ve known him since I was a kid. Because he’s my brother and I love him. But most of all, because I’ve never seen him this way with anyone before. Including Amy. That’s what he’s battling with. His guilt over that. Not his love or affection for you. If he didn’t love you as much as he does, none of this would be as hard for him as it is.”
Gus squeezes my shoulder and then walks off. Leaving me here alone to think about all he just said.
The thing is… I believe him.
Sucking in a deep fortifying breath, I let all of that settle in on me. And then I walk out into the dark quiet night, right onto the stage. A place I actually haven’t stepped foot on now that I think about it. In all these shows, I haven’t come out here, and as I do, I look out to the seats and a rush of nervous adrenaline hits me.
Out of the corner of my eye, I watch as Keith peeks up, finding me though his playing doesn’t falter for even a beat.
“I have no idea how you guys come out here and play and talk. No one is even in the stands, but still, this is terrifying. I think I might have stage fright. Who knew?”
“Come here,” is his only reply, and the somber edge to his voice has me complying instantly. I sit beside him, matching his position with my legs hanging off the edge that I scissor back and forth, trying to work out some of this excess tumult that’s humming through my veins.
Keith swings the guitar up and over his head, bringing it down around me. The strap sits on my shoulder and he takes my hands, positioning them.
“Does this hurt your fingers or arm?” he asks, running his hands over my bad arm.
I shake my head because even if it is a little uncomfortable, I don’t want him to stop what he’s doing.
He shifts, sliding in behind me with his thighs spread around me, his chest against my back and his hands on mine as he guides my motions. I can smell the Jack Daniels and the sweat from the show clinging to his skin. He smells like hard work and too much pain, and I’m intimately familiar with both of those things. I sink back into him, letting him show me how to play the guitar.
“Here,” he whispers in my ear. “Like this.” His hands start to move, start to play whatever song he was just strumming. He holds my hands, moving them this way and that, plucking at the strings. After a minute or so, as the sound comes out all wrong, I let my hands fall away from the instrument, dropping them down beside me.
The vibrations from the guitar funnel through me and my eyes close as my head falls back against him, meeting the crook of his shoulder.
He doesn’t sing any words—sometimes there just aren’t any words to be sung—but I don’t care. The feeling of him playing music against me while holding me on an empty stage is something I never want to forget.
He’s poetry and heartache. Beautiful and broken.
And he’s leading me down the rabbit hole with him.
No matter how this turns out between us, this is the moment everything changes.
This is a love song and a goodbye song. A hope that tomorrow will be a little brighter, a touch easier. And just like with this song, sometimes there aren’t any words to be said.
30
Keith
* * *
Time seems to stand still, suspended above my head like an angry cloud as I stare up into the starless night through the windshield. It’s going to storm tomorrow. I can feel it in my bones. If it storms, I won’t have football practice. That means I can sit inside all day and jam with the guys. She’ll come for that. She always does.
She loves to watch us play.
“Keith,” she whispers, and I smile, turning to her in the passenger seat. She’s so pretty when she smiles it makes my chest flutter.
I haven’t seen her smiles in so long. Not the real ones anyway, which is what this is.
Her smiles haven’t touched her eyes in months. Maybe longer. I don’t even know anymore. But tonight feels different—it fills me with a burgeoning hope.
She had fun at the party. She laughed and danced with her friends.
Maybe she’s finally starting to get better?
I reach out and touch her face, the bones sharp yet fragile beneath my fingers. The hollow dip of her cheek is more pronounced than it was even a few weeks ago. I frown a little at that before I can stop it, a swell of anxiety filling up my gut.
She catches my expression and pulls away, staring straight ahead and out the car window. I take her hand instead, bringing it up to my lips, and press a kiss into her palm. I need to fix the mood I just soured and any time I open my mouth lately, I practically cringe, petrified I’m going to make things worse not better.
“Tonight was fun.”
She nods, turning back to me, and her face has more of that glow it had before I touched her cheek. “It was. I’m so glad I came out with you.”
“School starts in a week. Senior year.”
“And you’re leaving for California when that’s all done.”
I chuckle at her excited yet insistent tone. “If the Crimson Tide and my father don’t get their hands on me first.”
She shakes her head, her smile light and playful. “No way. You’re meant for the stage, Keith Dawson. Bright lights and drumsticks.”
“And you’ll be there front row.”
“No matter what, I’m forever and always your biggest fan.”
I stare into her eyes and kiss her palm again. Knowing she loves it when I do that.
“You should get in before your mama comes out here and tans my hide for keeping you out late,” I tell her though I hate the idea of her going inside and our perfect night ending.
White teeth sparkle as her smile widens, her pale blue eyes glittering against the sliver of moonlight that somehow manages to seep into the car. “She’s asleep. Both of my parents are.”
I laugh, bouncing my eyebrows suggestively. “Are you inviting me in then with you, babe?”
Her smile falters. “Not tonight.”
There’s something in her voice that tears at me a little, and I can’t understand what it is. Did I say something wrong? She hasn’t let me touch her in so long, and all I want to do is touch her. Show her how much I love her. Always.
None of that other stuff matters to me because I’m here with her to the end.
“Goodnight, Keith. I love you.”
31